After Journey's End
by Kallie49
Summary: It's hard enough for a mother to send her child out into the world, much less out into other planes of existence. Beverly struggles after saying goodbye to Wesley. Epilogue to "Journey's End." P/C. One-shot.


A/N: I've always liked the episode "Journey's End"—so many good plot threads are set in motion there (even if they didn't have much time to pay dividends in TNG). It also has some strong scenes between Picard, Beverly, and Wesley in various combinations, and one of my favorite little P/C moments at the end. I don't think I've ever read an epilogue for it, so here's my attempt. Dialogue in the transporter room belongs to the excellent Ronald D. Moore. The rest of it's mine, and it was a bit trickier than normal for me, so reviews are most welcome.

* * *

He was really leaving this time. Not going back to school, not taking a short trip, not even departing for a new career, all of which she might have been prepared for. In any of those cases, whether he would have been in Starfleet or elsewhere, whether he would have been completely safe or not, he would have been _reachable_ , would at the very least have been within the confines of known space. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? Then she could have maintained a reasonable maternal-worrying distance of, say, a few dozen light years. But instead, he was leaving to Travel, to explore an entirely new way of _being_ , unlimited by time or space. How in the galaxy was she supposed to let him go do _that_?

It had been a whirlwind of a week, as his visit home had started off with him uncustomarily sullen and depressed; to her increasing alarm, he'd begun to alienate his friends onboard and even jeopardized delicate diplomatic negotiations, before abruptly withdrawing from the Academy. The unexpected guidance of the Traveler had shown him that he might be destined to follow a different path in life from what he had originally planned, and once that understanding was finally reached, things began to fall back into place for him. Having apologized and set things right with his friends, and with the negotiations salvaged and successfully concluded, he was prepared to move on. Now it was just up to her to accept it.

To her credit (she hoped), she did encourage him to go in this new direction. He didn't have to be in Starfleet; she never meant to put that pressure on him, but she thought it was what he had always wanted. She knew that he was special, that he might have some other calling...she just never imagined it would be quite like this. She wondered what Jack would think if he were here now. Wesley said he'd actually had a vision of his father telling him not to follow him, to go his own way. Whether she believed the vision was real or not, and she did wish it were so, she felt certain Jack would be proud of Wesley's decision, which seemed to have already brought him so much peace. She was proud, too...

But oh, she was going to miss her son, her baby. Of course he hadn't been a baby in over twenty years, but at times like these she couldn't help but remember those early days, juggling residency and new motherhood, when she cycled between delight at all of her sweet boy's milestones and despair of ever sleeping through the night again. And yet somehow the endless sleep-deprived hours had turned into years that had flown by at warp speed. Looking at him now in the transporter room, ready to start his new studies on Dorvan V, she could hardly believe the man he'd grown into. Sometimes he reminded her so much of his father it took her breath away.

Beverly Crusher watched, more emotions that she couldn't quite identify swirling through her, as he shook hands warmly with Jean-Luc. "Well. Good luck, Mister—good luck, _Wesley_ ," the captain corrected himself. She hid a smile. For so many reasons, Jean-Luc had always been more formal with him, but she knew there was a great deal of affection and pride there. And conversely, he would always be more than just "Captain Picard" to Wesley, too.

Wesley smiled. "Thank you. For a lot of things."

Beverly drew her son into another embrace, trying to keep her composure. With a shaky breath, she pulled back and ran her thumbs over his cheeks affectionately. "Now you be sure to dress warmly on those other planes of existence," she told him with mock sternness.

He laughed, rolling his eyes tolerantly at the motherly admonition. "I will. Bye, Mom."

She didn't want to let him go, but she did, and she made herself smile as he stepped up to the transporter pad. "Goodbye."

For a moment after he had left she remained in place, watching the empty platform with unshed tears in her eyes. Crossing behind her, Jean-Luc started to leave, then paused in the corridor and extended an arm back toward her, placing a comforting hand on her back to guide her out when she followed him. She smiled her silent appreciation at his kindness, convincing herself she would be fine now...until the turbolift doors closed in front of them and the lift began to move, and all of sudden the reality hit her hard: her son, the only family she had left in the universe, was really gone now, and this time she had no idea when, or if, she'd ever see him again. She wrapped an arm around her waist and covered her face with her other hand, fighting to maintain control, finding instead to her distress that she couldn't hold the tears in any longer.

"Computer, halt lift," came the quiet command from beside her, and she felt Jean-Luc's hand slide up and around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace.

Not caring how it would look if anyone found them there, she gratefully buried her head in his shoulder, feeling hot tears escape between her fingers and onto his uniform. "Jean-Luc," she gasped.

"It's all right," he murmured. His arms were strong, supportive. "He'll be fine."

She nodded into his shoulder and spoke around hitching breaths. "I know he's fine. Nothing bad happened. And it's normal not to want your child to go away," she said, trying to be rational, as if that could stem the tide of grief at saying goodbye. "I _know_ all of that, I just don't know what to _do_." The last words were choked out in a half-sob.

"I don't imagine any parent does." She felt, rather than saw, his gentle smile. "But most parents don't have to let their child go off to other planes of existence."

She laughed once, turning her face toward his neck and blinking desperately as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks. "I don't even know enough to know what to worry about."

"Then don't worry."

So logical, yet so impossible. "Easy for you to say." Shuddering breaths passed through her as he held her for several long moments. Gradually she felt herself calming down, as she felt his steady heartbeat under her hand and breathed in his familiar scent. She was so glad he was there. He was _always_ there, and now he was the only one, in a way that was different than just a few weeks before when things might have seemed the same as they were now, but her son was still a subspace call away at the Academy. Now Wesley was _gone_ , just like—

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to swallow the lump rising again in her throat and to banish the other thought pushing at her mind, but struggled in the maelstrom of emotion.

"Sometimes I wish Jack were here," she whispered. It was something she rarely allowed herself to think, much less say aloud, and never, never to him. She didn't want to remind him of his own loss, his old guilt, or their own complex relationship—but she couldn't stop the words from escaping. In a paradoxical way he was the only one she _could_ say them to, because he was the only one who could truly understand. She felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly, and she clutched his uniform shoulder, breathed an apology. "Jean-Luc, I'm sorry."

He relaxed again and kept his arms close around her, then pressed his lips into her hair, making her ache from the intimacy of the action. "Never be sorry for that, Beverly." He gripped her shoulders and shifted her back to look at him directly. Through watery vision, she could see pain in the hard set of his eyes, but his tone was more compassionate than she had any right to hope for. "I miss him, too. He would be very proud of Wesley, and how you've raised him."

It was all she could do not to fall back against him. "I did my best."

"I know."

Beverly felt another flood of tears threaten, but forced them back with a determined inhalation and returned his smile shakily. She was extraordinarily fortunate to have such a good friend, she knew. "He would be glad for everything you've done for him, too," she told him, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "Thank you."

Jean-Luc shook his head, hazel eyes regarding her seriously. "You've never had to thank me." He had loved his friend and loved his friend's family as well, as the one he never had; and despite the fact that he couldn't face her for years after Jack's death, from the time they had met again seven years ago, he'd never once shirked from that renewed sense of duty and caring toward them. If she'd only recently come to truly understand that he had also been—still was— _in_ love with her...it didn't change the depth of their friendship, or her profound gratitude for the role he'd come to play in her son's life. Or her love for him, however hard to define...

They held each other's gaze for another few heartbeats, until she felt her pulse start to thrum loudly in her ears. Drawing in another gulp of air, she finally looked away, breaking the moment. She heard Jean-Luc exhale quietly as his hands fell away from her.

"Ohhh, I'm a mess," she moaned softly, then reached out to brush uselessly at his collar. "And your uniform—I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

He shrugged it off. "I believe that's what shoulders are for, sometimes," he said with a faint smile. Studying her face, he added diplomatically, "You might want to stop off at your quarters, though."

Feeling her cheeks color with slight embarrassment, she wiped at her tear-streaked face with the palms of her hands and tried to smooth her hair. "Yes. I can't very well show up in sickbay this way."

"Would you like me to walk you back there?"

He was being polite and she appreciated the offer, but after everything she'd just put on him, she didn't want to impose on him—or on their friendship—any further. Her emotions were still roiling and it was probably better, for both of them, for her to deal with them on her own. Thanks to him, though, she felt much better able to do so. She shook her head, squaring her shoulders. "I'll be all right." Reaching out to squeeze his hand once, determinedly ignoring the charge that jumped between them at the action, she added softly, "Thank you again."

This time he accepted it. "Anytime, Beverly." He smiled back at her and then straightened his tunic, slipping back into captain mode and stepping one carefully-measured pace away as they turned their eyes forward. "Computer, resume. Deck Eight."

Her son might now go off into the wilds of unknown time and space, but she was home...and as long as Jean-Luc was with her in _this_ time and place, she would be fine.


End file.
